


Seasons of Light and Darkness

by tjmystic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: A Tale of Two Cities AU, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tale of Two Cities AU:  Lucie!Belle, Charles!Rum, Sydney!Rush</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  La Petite Belle

Seasons of Light and Darkness  
Title: Seasons of Light and Darkness, A Tale of Two Cities Rumple/Belle/Rush AU

Prologue: La Petite Belle

Rating: PG (for the moment; may eventually be upped to PG-13, but there isn’t any smut in this one)

Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANG!!!!!!!! I know this is something of a gyp since you were probably expecting a full chapter, but I had to post the prologue first. I’ll try to get chapter 1 up, soon. In the meantime, I shall attempt to placate you with bonus birthday smut :D 

For everyone else who isn’t ANG, hope you enjoy, too. This one’s a little different from my usual fare - the lack of smut, for one lol - but I hope it meets my usual standards. Alright, best let you get on with it so I can post the smut and Chapter 1 tonight!

 

Nicholas Rush marched nervously about his office, straightening things here, dusting things there. He wouldn’t allow anything to be out of place today, not even a single sheet of parchment. Not on his first day as an official solicitor. 

Gloria would’ve been proud, he thought wryly. But then, Gloria was proud of all his meager achievements. The day he promised to never drink again, for example, only to end up cutting back a shot or two at the pub. The night he promised he’d never again come home late, just to revise his schedule to midnight business hours instead of three in the morning. The year he promised he’d die before he let the cancer consume her…

Rush shook his head and filed away another sheaf of paper. That was neither here nor there – it was only his past which belonged to his wife now. His present was that of a lawyer. He had the power to advise clients on their actions, present their cases to the court, and prepare those he couldn’t be bothered with for the banister. Bringing people back to life was far from his qualifications. 

_Knock knock!_

Rush didn’t answer. He was busying about his office, hoping he could have it put in proper order by the time he received his first client. Looking professional was half the battle, he knew.

Knock knock!

Again, Rush didn’t answer. Unless it was King bloody George himself, whoever it was could make an appointment just like anyone else. He wasn’t in the habit of giving preferential treatment to anyone, much less after all the time he’d spent nursing Gloria. Everyone died equally – alone, scared, and in pain – so why should their lives be any different?

Much as he’d expected, though, the person didn’t bother to knock a third time. Instead, whoever it was merely banged the door open and barged right in.

“Is this the office of Mister Nicholas Rush?” a gruff, male voice inquired.

“Actually, it’s the office of Doctor Nicholas Rush,” he sneered, turning briefly to look at the man. He was tall, a good head or so above Rush himself, and broad of limbs and shoulders. An officer, he suspected. His sneer deepened. “Understandable mistake, though – you probably crushed the plaque that states my title when you bashed my door in. But then, if you had to ask at all, I think it safe to assume you just can’t read.”

The man didn’t seem remotely offended. Rush scoffed at him – he was definitely some sort of officer. Those were the only men he’d ever met who couldn’t even tell when they were being insulted.

“Rush,” he started again, forgoing any pretense of titles this time, “I have a business proposition for you.”

“I gathered,” he huffed. “Take a seat, then.”

The man didn’t move. Rush closed his eyes and brought his hand to the bridge of his nose – deaf as well as blind, it seemed. This was shaping out to be a wonderful first day…

With a sigh, he moved to his own seat and took out his spectacles and a quill.

“Name and business?” he asked, dipping the pen into his inkwell. 

“Classified information.”

A confused and equally irate look passed over his eyes, but he refused to lift his head lest he see that the man was only toying with him. “Pardon?”

To his credit, the man’s voice never wavered. “Classified information.”

Rush flipped the spectacles from his face and folded his left hand under his chin. “I’m not sure you aren’t aware of this… actually, scratch that – I’m sure you aren’t aware of this, but the line of work I’m in actually requires me to have a name and a purpose for doing business.”

The man’s expression remained exactly the same save for a subtle twitch of his eyes and a clenching of his teeth. “I’m looking to buy a house,” he said plainly. “Nothing extravagant, just a basic house in a good neighborhood. Minimal flowers.”

“Rather odd requests for a man with no name,” Rush muttered. “Have you seasonal allergies?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “No. Why?”

“Well, you asked for minimal flowers, and that was the only thing that made sense. That’s what you’d call a logical assumption.” 

That finally seemed to get a rise out of the man, for whatever reason, and Rush settled himself back with a smirk. 

“The house isn’t actually for me, Rush,” he groused. “Strictly speaking, no one can know who will actually be living there.”

Officers – and Rush still assumed that this man was one – were meant to be outstanding and virtuous citizens. They were meant to be seen as godlike protectors of country and the state. In short, they weren’t meant to err. To Rush, this indicated that whatever was making the man so secretive about his affairs had to be relatively disgraceful. He wouldn’t want to tarnish his perfect reputation, of course.

“Ah, I see,” he scoffed. “Well, I’m quite sorry, but I’m not in the practice of putting up ‘gentlemen’s’ mistresses just to keep them a secret from their wives. If you’ll excuse me, then –”

The man almost laughed, the noise sounding closer to a single dry breath. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Rush. I have neither a wife nor a mistress and, even if I did, my business here would still be entirely removed from them.”

Rush flexed his fingers around the edge of the desk. “Are you going to tell me what this ‘business’ of yours is, then, or am I meant to keep guessing? If so, the next theory I put forward is a brothel. I’m not in the habit of working with those either, by the way.”

Rush couldn’t say why, but he was rather pleased to see the man’s face turn red. 

“I have my reasons, Rush, but they are my own,” he groaned. “Can a man not have his secrets?”

“Not when he works with me. Now, you’re either going to tell me why you’re here, or you’re going to turn right around and –”

“Colonel Young, have I a house yet?”

Both Rush and the other man – Young, he presumed, and he mentally applauded himself for correctly guessing the man’s career – whipped around. He’d expected to find a coquettish French whore based on the voice – his experience led him to believe that they put on ridiculously high voices in some misguided attempt to be more seductive. Instead, he found a young girl hardly older than eight. 

“Miss, I thought I told you to wait with Mrs. Johnson in the hallway.”

The girl didn’t seem repentant in the least. “Mrs. Johnson said I might check on you. I was getting worried.”

Young’s face noticeably softened at that. “You needn’t be worried, Miss. We were just settling the terms.”

She didn’t seem convinced. Indeed, she seemed to know very exactly that she was being patronized, and, to Rush’s equal surprise and amusement, hated every second of it. It still shocked him, though, when she turned away from Mr. Young to look directly at him and ask,

“Doctor Rush? Do you have me a house?”

His eyebrows quirked up. “How do you know my name?”

The girl had the nerve to glare at him as if he were mentally deficient. “Well, for one,” she started, “I was listening in. You were very clear on that. And for another,” she stepped back and pointed at the nameplate on his door, a solid foot above her head, “I can, in fact, read.”

If she were a man, he might’ve slapped her. Maybe. He normally would’ve said yes to that without hesitation, but there was something very different about this little girl. That was obvious by the fact that, instead of sneering at her as per usual, he felt guilty for offending her.

“You can read English?” he repeated, unable to say much of anything else. 

She didn’t have a quip for that, just nodded her head. “If I’m to move here, I thought it would be a necessary skill, especially since there are very few books here that are written in French. I love to read, you see.”

Again, Rush wasn’t quite sure how he ought to respond to that. Once more grasping at straws, he looked direct at her and asked,

“What is your name?”

Young’s eyes filled with panic, the most emotion Rush had seen in them thus far. “Miss, don’t –”

“Isabelle Villeneuve, sir. You can call me Isabelle – I think it’s rather funny that everyone in this country insists on calling a little French girl ‘miss’.”

Rush had to chuckle at that – in one fell swoop, she’d managed to insult both of her “betters” by calling them ignorant. He would analyze later why that didn’t offend him more.

“Well, Isabelle,” he began, glad to see the young girl finally smile at him, “why is it that you are in need of a house? And, better yet, can you actually afford one?”

She nodded vigorously. “Ma mere… my mother, she left me a lot of money when she died. I… I miss her, but I greatly appreciate it. Mr. Young and Mrs. Johnson said it’s more than enough to afford a new home.”

Rush nodded at her as he retook his seat, once again donning his quill and spectacles. “Then I can certainly put you up, Isabelle. But you still haven’t answered my first question – why are you in the market for a house in the first place?”

She lowered her head and clenched her hands around her upper arms. “My Papa’s dead, sir,” she said softly. “I don’t know what he did wrong, but they put him in the Bastille, and then they took him away. I miss him. And my mother’s already gone, so I don’t have anywhere else to go. I… I’m not allowed to talk about the rest.”

Rush lifted his eyes to Young’s. He didn’t give it much thought on a day-to-day basis, but he knew just as well as anyone the state that France was in at present. Corruption, extortion, men offering their wives for money, peasants begging in the street for rats and spoiled wine – it was a mess. So, while his curiosity was once again piqued, he knew better than to ask about this particular detail. A single, somber nod from the other man was enough to confirm that. 

“So, might… might you help me, sir?”

Rush made a few notes on his paper, but he never moved his gaze from Isabelle’s eyes. He’d never felt such a connection with a child before. It wasn’t even a connection he could label – it merely was. But then, he’d never felt such a need to be generous before, either; the girl would never know it, but the house he had in mind for her was going to be half-price from the rest of the market. Of that he was sure, considering it was his own house he’d be moving her into. It wasn’t really home without Gloria anyway.

Rush leant forward to put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, then thought better of it and twitched away. 

“I’ll make preparations for your new home within the week, Miss Villeneuve. Until then, I’ll give you allowance for lodgings at the local inn.”

“Mer… thank you, sir,” she smiled, blushing at her near slip. 

Rush grinned at her in return, the underused muscles in his cheeks twitching, and settled back into his chair. It was a small gift to be sure, but the girl’s smile made him feel like he’d done something grand. Maybe this wouldn’t be another failure on his part, after all.


	2. Chapter 1:  The Release of the Innocent Felon

Seasons of Light and Darkness (1/?)  
Title: Chapter 1: The Release of the Innocent Felon

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Well, I promised I’d be updating this one soon, so here you go! Please don’t kill me for how short it is - I honestly couldn’t figure out how to introduce Rumple or Belle at the end of this chapter without making it seem ridiculously awkward, so all you get is the beginnings of the real crossover (for those who didn’t read the prologue, this story incorporates characters from both Once and Stargate Universe). Anyway, that’s enough from me. Hope you all enjoy!

 

10 years later

The night air was clear and chill, unusually so even for Kingsdown in the winter. It was no wonder that the good citizens of Kent were locked away in their rooms, waiting for the oncoming snow or at least an increase in the cold. Not a soul, not even the dogs, wandered about in the grassy roads. 

All in all, the perfect night for secrets. 

Two carriages – one polished and pristine, the other in obvious disrepair – graced the otherwise desolate, muddy road, each pointing in a different direction. Shadows moved within each of them, eerie specters waiting for the right moment to come out or rush the carriages onward. Whatever sign they were looking for in response to the latter never came, and, finally, the door of the more elegant cart clipped open. 

A grey, paisley heel slipped out first, followed by the bottoms of a stocking, a clean-cut dress, and the rest of a thirty-something woman with coifed blonde hair. She looked left and right, fingering the handle-like shape under her shawl, and stepped onto the dirty street. Her companion – a broad-set, curly-haired gentleman – remained hidden in the darkness of the compartment. 

The second carriage sprang open as soon as the woman’s foot hit the ground. Out of this one sprawled a girl of about nineteen, dressed in a much-too-vivid red cloak. The blonde stared at it sharply, and the girl’s driver – who’d been thus far silent in his seat – coughed and called out,

“Apologies, mum. She said she’d be wearin’ the cape or nothin’ ‘t all. And I’ve got to be gentleman an’ all, right?”

The first carriage rattled. All three of the people on the street turned towards it in confusion, and watched as the man leaned out. His face was terribly lined around the mouth, and his oak eyes were narrowed under an overhanging brow, but he held himself like a commanding officer. 

“Scott, is that you?” he huffed. 

The driver’s eyes went wide, and his mouth slowly grew into an overwhelming smile. Without a thought for the horses, he threw down his reins and ran to the other carriage. The older man needed only lean his head out another inch before the driver was next to him, shaking his hand wildly and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, it’s good to see you, Colonel Young!”

Young laughed and punched the young man’s shoulder in return. “When they told me an old friend would be delivering Miss Loupe, I didn’t realize that meant you! How’s naval life treating you, Lieutenant?”

Scott opened his mouth, but a shrill cough from behind them cut him off. Both men flushed sheepishly at the sight of the older woman tapping her foot, arms crossed impatiently before her. 

Young coughed. “Yes, yes, to the point. My apologies, Mrs. Johnson.”

Mrs. Johnson nodded, her cheeks tilting up in a forgiving smile, and faced the cloaked girl once again.

“What news do you bring us, Miss Loupe?”

The young woman narrowed her eyes, not maliciously but, rather, in concentration. The reason for it became clear the moment she opened her mouth and said in a heavy French accent and halting English syllables,

“Recalled to life.”

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes went round as saucers, and behind her, Colonel Young’s did the same. Matthew Scott, however, looked on with nothing but dim confusion.

“Could… could you repeat that?” Mrs. Johnson stammered.

Miss Loupe nodded again, and, this time, her eyes were wet with tears of joy. “Recalled… to life. Geoffroy Chapelier, he and his wife, Regina. Zey keep him. Recalled to life.”

Mrs. Johnson choked, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Yet, she raced forward and took the other woman in her arms, holding her tight as they both cried happy tears. 

“Doctor Villeneuve,” they smiled in tandem, unable to keep themselves quiet with the knowledge that the old man was free. 

But Scott, knowing none of this, leaned into the carriage window even more bewildered and tapped Young on his shoulder. 

“What kind o’ strange message is that, colonel?” he asked under his breath. 

Young smiled somewhat tiredly, and patted the younger man on the back. “The kind that saves lives, Scott. And we need you to relay that same message to Telford’s Bank. We’ve all got a long journey ahead of us.” 

Scott blanched. “And Miss Loupe, sir?”

The girl in question appeared behind him, shaking out her dark, curly hair before climbing into the carriage beside Mr. Young. Mrs. Johnson grinned tearily at her once more, then curtsied at Scott and answered, “We’ll take care of her, sir.” 

It was clear that the lieutenant didn’t understand even the tiniest bit better, but he saluted Young all the same and marched away. He clambered onto his carriage seat without delay, and shouted, “Aye aye, Sir!” before cracking his whip and speeding off towards the west. 

Inside the remaining cart, the cloaked girl pulled out a booklet labeled with the name “Ruby Lucas”, and a small cameo of a thick woman with curly hair. She kissed it, hid them both inside her cloak once more, and turned to go to sleep. 

Young – as serious as ever yet again – tapped on the roof of the carriage and shouted, “Go on, Greer.” The wheels whirred almost instantly, and off they went again. 

Eyes still wet and joyful, Mrs. Johnson leaned forward in her seat and smiled.

“Wait until Miss Isabelle hears…”


End file.
